


someone will love you (but someone isn't me)

by godslut



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, LMAO, M/M, dude there is so much angst, im not sorry, ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 09:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11643957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godslut/pseuds/godslut
Summary: harry leaves and he doesn't have a good reason.





	someone will love you (but someone isn't me)

**Author's Note:**

> so listen i'm apologizing in advance and also u should listen to sorry by halsey bc thats where the last line comes from,,, and basically harry caves into his rlly sucky thoughts and niall is the dick in this story because he forgot to tweet about 7yearsof1d on the proper day,,, anyways enjoy
> 
> please please please comment and leave kudos bc i cried writing this fic and i need validation,,, also id love it if you popped over to my tumblr and checked me out !
> 
> i'm @louisau on tumblr !!!!!

**11:56pm.**

 

Harry turns around in his bed.

 

He's sleeping. His hair is splayed on the pillow, barely brushing Harry's neck. His eyelashes rest on his high cheekbones and his mouth is slightly parted. His nose is sharp but his expression is soft and content. He's cocooned into the covers, resting on his side and his body moves steadily, breathing in and out and  _ in and out and in and out _ . Harry shivers.

 

He knows he needs to leave before the sun rises.

 

Instead of untangling his limbs from those of the man laid in front of him, he turns around and tightens Louis’ grip around his own torso and snuggles himself back into the arms of the smaller boy. He closes his eyes and lets the scent of Louis’ cologne waft over him, over his body and into his mind and he clutches onto the distinct feeling of simply being held.

 

He knows he needs to cherish this moment.

 

**3:13am.**

 

He's packed, bag ready and waiting for him by the front door. Harry tugs on a windbreaker just as Louis rolls over on the bed, and the green eyed boy freezes for a moment before he realizes that Louis is still snoring softly. 

 

Endeared and overcome with emotion, Harry leans down and presses a kiss to Louis' forehead. He scrunches his nose lightly in his sleep and then rolls over again.

 

Harry breathes in once, as much air as his lungs can take, as much of Louis and his room and the air around him and the memories and the moments that Harry can breathe in, and then exhales silently. His time is over. 

 

Harry steps outside of the house with a bag slung over his shoulder and his phone in his hand.

 

He glances up at the bedroom window and shakingly tries to remember what kissing Louis felt like. He remembers warm lips.

 

He reaches up to touch his own, only to realize that his are as cold as the frigid morning air.

 

**3:35am.**

 

Harry clambers into a taxi, all long uncontrollable limbs and hair slipping out of his bun, sad eyes and a thundering heart.

 

This taxi is meant to take him far away from Louis, but instead it brings him right back to the beginning.

 

_ Harry clambers into a taxi, all long uncontrollable limbs and hair slipping out of his bun, sad eyes and a thundering heart. _ He had shoved his backpack inside before getting in the car, and he looks forward to the other end of the backseat when he realizes that instead of landing on the seat, his bag landed on a person. A tiny person. A boy. An angry, tiny, boy person, with sharp blue eyes and a coffee in his hand.

 

“Mate, you better be having a real shit day or else I’m not excusing this kind of behavior,” this angry boy begins speaking, and Harry is immediately taken with the sound of his raspy voice and the way he waves his hands around in the air before shoving Harry’s backpack back to him. “You almost made me spill me tea!”

 

Harry doesn’t realize he’s gaping at the boy, no, man, that’s sitting in front of him until the taxi driver clears his throat. 

 

“I’ve already got a passenger, dude.” The driver looks at him pointedly through the rearview mirror and Harry shifts his head back to look at Angry Tea Man who’s already staring at Harry. 

 

“Where are you going? We can ride together if it's on my way,” the stranger speaks, and then grins. “You can understand me, right?”

 

Harry sees the man smile but he doesn’t  _ see the man smile _ because suddenly in his mind he’s transported to a summer afternoon at a park having a picnic with this man and his smile and he’s transported to a snowy day and this man is sitting on the couch with his legs intertwined with Harry’s and there it is,  _ his smile _ , and Harry isn’t sure which way is up and how to speak and what his own name is because this man, this beautiful blue eyed man, is grinning and he’s a thousand times brighter than the sun. 

 

The stranger shakes his head teasingly, and Harry snaps back to reality and turns his entire body so he’s sitting properly in the car.

 

“I’ve got to get to Rebecca’s Bakery on the corner of Sixth and Parkway,” He manages to say, and the man beside him smiles once more and his blue eyes light up with delight.

 

“I’m heading straight past, you can get dropped off on my way!” He exclaims, and leans towards Harry reaching out an arm across Harry’s torso. “I’m Louis, by the way.”

 

Harry barely has time to react before the man’s, Louis’, tea is tipping out of his hand as he reaches to Harry and Harry is awestruck and amazed and looking straight into those deep blue eyes as he grabs the cup and stops it from falling. Louis looks down at Harry’s hand grasped around the cup and looks up again, continuing to reach with his extended arm and Harry’s trapped between the seat and the arm and he’s confused and he reaches up to wrap his other arm around Louis and then Louis is laughing.

 

“This isn’t a hug, mate, you left the door open,” He chuckles and reaches past Harry, outside of the car, swings the door closed and promptly snatches his tea from Harry’s hand.

 

“So what’s your name, Curly?” He inquires and Harry is lost for words again because wait,  _ didn’t I put my hair into a bun this morning _ , and he reaches up and realizes his hair fell out of its tie.

 

Harry scoffs and slouches into the seat, the arm and hand where Louis brushed past him on fire, and mutters, “My name’s Harry,” before grabbing his backpack off the floor and clutching it to his chest while smoothing his hair down.

  
He’s having a terrible day considering everything that’s happened, like the embarrassing hug and the awkward movements and his hair refusing to cooperate and already being late to work and the taxi driver snickering under his breath, but part of him knows that this day is monumental. This day is the day he met Louis Tomlinson.

 

_ This day is the day a new era began in his life. _

 

This day is the day that he’s giving it all up. Harry startles back to the present as the taxi driver apologizes for the sudden brake and Louis isn’t here, there’s no tea and no backpack and no Louis and that moment is gone, just a memory cut into wisps and floating in the back of every taxi, just a memory that Louis probably doesn’t even remember, just a memory that Harry knows he’ll never forget. 

 

**4:02am.**

 

He’s at a train station and there’s a cafe open, and it’s connected to a bookstore. 

 

He painstakingly takes a breath and feels the cold air slip into his lungs, solidifying and breaking into shards that pierce his heart. His head hurts, his eyes are bloodshot, his throat is dry and he needs a drink of water, of coffee, of  _ something  _ but he won’t go inside, he _ won’t he won’t _ he can’t, because everything reminds him of Louis. 

 

He goes inside and his world collapses because this place is exactly like the cafe and bookstore where Louis kissed him for the first time, on his tip toes with his hands pressed to Harry’s cheeks, pulling him down and under and crowding into his personal space until the lines between them began to blur, until they weren’t Harry and Louis anymore, until they became one person and Harry vividly remembers how much he felt from that single, first kiss, how his world was turned upside down and rewritten by the hand of the loud, flamboyant, short, quick-witted,  _ absolutely utterly gorgeous _ Louis.

 

Harry, present day Harry, the Harry who left all his hopes and dreams and aspirations, the Harry who left his love, shakes and gasps and tries to breathe  _ just breathe just breathe just breathe _ and he grabs a bottle of water and slaps a bill down onto the counter and bursts outside. 

 

He’s in the back of every taxi in the world, simple bookstores and cafe’s, Louis is nowhere and everywhere at once and Harry takes another deep breath because  _ no, he isn’t going to break down crying like some stupid teenager in the middle of the road _ , he turns around and suddenly, Louis is there, he’s standing there and he’s looking Harry straight in the eye, his icy blue eyed gaze seeing straight through the walls that Harry spent sixteen years of his life building and hiding behind, and Louis smiles. 

 

He smiles and he offers Harry his heart, carefully wrapped in thousands of memories and sealed with a kiss.

 

Harry takes a shaky step back and his vision, daydream, nightmare, whatever the hell that was, shatters, and simultaneously, his heart.

 

All of these places remind him of Louis, but nothing is ruined. There is just pain, a simple, heavy emotion layered on top of the blissful memories, a feeling that nudges at Harry’s soul and mind and every fiber of his being and slowly but surely tears him apart. 

 

**4:32am.**

 

He calms down, and tries to focus on simple tasks. 

 

Breathe.

 

Walk to the ticket station.

 

Ask for the earliest train far away from here.

 

Pay for the ticket.

  
Breathe.

 

He gets on a train and tries to run away from himself and his memories.

 

**5:48am.**

 

Harry is in the middle of nowhere by now, having taken too many trains to understand where he was going.

 

He breathes in once, remembering the blue eyed boy who is most likely still lying in bed, without a clue of what Harry is doing or where he is.

 

He finds a bench in front of a park and sits down on it. He's _ tired _ .

 

Harry takes another deep breath and tries to push Louis to the back of his mind. He can't.

 

He slumps his shoulders and puts his head in his hands, elbows balanced precariously on his knees. 

 

He cries.

 

**6:17am.**

 

He remembers.

 

He remembers Niall showing up at his house one day and he remembers how he let him inside, laughing and clapping his back, completely oblivious to what was about to happen.

 

He remembers sitting down and he remembers Niall asking about his life, how he’s faring and  _ oh? you’re in love with someone? whom?  _ and he remembers how recognition sparkled on Niall’s face and how half a second later, Niall’s demeanor changed. 

 

He became intrusive, interrogating about how their life was, if Harry truly trusted Louis, if Louis was a good man, and Harry became increasingly confused and afraid.

 

He remembers how Niall leaned forward and patted his arm, whispering, “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Aren’t you afraid of getting hurt?” and he remembers what he replied and he wishes he could take it back.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Save yourself from that.” Niall shrugged and with a sigh, got up and left.

 

Everything in the house was exactly the same as it had been two hours earlier, but a hurricane had ripped through Harry’s mind.

 

He remembers how hours of waiting up for Louis changed from being enjoyable to irritating, he remembers how the irritation turned into fear and he remembers the night where he leaned in close to Louis and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until he was all that Harry knew, he remembers how he curled up close to Louis’ strong chest and whispered into his collarbones right above the “It is what it is” tattoo, and echoed Niall’s question.

 

“Aren’t you afraid of getting hurt?”

 

Louis had looked down, concern etched on his face as he cradled Harry close to his chest, pulling him in and close and tight until there was no where else for Harry to go, until their legs and arms and hearts were intertwined and there was no telling where Louis ended and Harry began, and he had smiled softly.

 

“I am. But you won’t hurt me, I know you won’t,” he whispered, as if the two boys in the dark room underneath the covers were sharing a simple secret. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” Harry had whispered back, but his mind took another path. His thoughts twisted and turned until they were almost unrecognizable, and his conscience began screaming at him with the fury and pain of a thousand suns.

 

_ Why does Louis love me? He is strong and kind and loving and beautiful and unforgettable and why does he love me, why does he love me when he deserves so much more than just a simple boy from Cheshire, why does he love me when he deserves someone who could give him the moon and the stars and every diamond and pearl the world has to offer, why does he love me?  _

 

Harry had rolled over and tried to push those thoughts from his mind but Louis’ arms were wrapped tight around him, holding him to his chest, like a constant reminder that he was holding Louis back. 

 

Harry from the present chokes back a teary gasp, holding on tight to the edge of the bench he had sat on, and he holds on to the wood so tight he’s afraid he might splinter it, but its the only thing anchoring him to the world right now, because he gave up and walked away and left behind his rope, his Louis.

 

He remembers why he did what he did, why he left behind blue eyes and soft skin and a sharp mind with witty humor and a crooked smile and small hands and thin fingers and a soft stomach and muscular thighs and pale feet and miles and miles of black ink on creamy skin and Louis. 

  
It hurts, but it hurts less than knowing he wasn’t good enough, that he’d never be good enough for Louis. It hurts, but it hurts less than being hurt by Louis would have. It hurts, but it hurts less than accidentally crushing Louis’ heart. It hurts, but it hurts with a purpose and a reason and it hurts because Louis is safe now and Louis can love someone else now and Louis can have what he deserves and it hurts because Harry is alone. But it hurts less.

 

Doesn’t it?

 

**6:43am.**

 

Harry looks up at the sky, the vast emptiness glaring down at him. He wishes to be struck by lightning. He wishes to fly. He wishes to drown. He wishes to kiss pink lips and blue eyes and soft hands and tattoos and he wishes for Louis.

 

Harry gets up off of the bench, stands straight and tall and looks up at the sky.

 

Louis is far away. 

 

Louis is far away but they still share the same earth and the same moon and the same sun.

 

With that thought lingering in his mind, Harry watches the first rays of dawn break through the pinkish orange clouds that huddle amongst the horizon. 

 

It's over. He’s gone.

 

"Someone will love you," he thinks. " _ but someone isn't me _ ."

 


End file.
